


The Sixth Face

by museaway



Series: Phoenix [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, mention of canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:31:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim has the oven open, one hand on the baking sheet and the other on the door handle, when he receives the message about the shuttle crash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sixth Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plaidshirtjimkirk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/gifts).



> I wrote this in a flurry for my darling plaidshirtjimkirk, who was having a not-so-great day last week. ♥
> 
> Thank you to [OrmondSacker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ormondsacker) for the beta!
> 
> This takes place in the _Phoenix_ universe, but all you need to know about that story is that Jim and Spock are married, Jim is retired, and they spend half the year on Vulcan. Inspired by [this beautiful piece](http://petimetrek.tumblr.com/post/97586589436/happy-k-s-day) by the lovely peti.

Jim has the oven open, one hand on the baking sheet and the other on the door handle, when he receives the message about the shuttle crash. 

He presses his lips together and listens, absorbing the information as the yeoman reads it in a recited monotone. It was a training mission. Five of his former students were on board, and none of them survived. A navigation error. Four of the five students were human, and the memorials will be held on Earth immediately. Starfleet knows that Jim won't be able to attend the services, since he's currently on Vulcan, but they wanted him to know about the incident, in case he wanted to send personal condolences to the families. Names and contact information will be forwarded separately, the message concludes. 

The house goes silent, and Jim removes the baking sheet from the oven. He places it on the counter. He removes the oven mitt, shuts the oven, and switches it off. He dictates a quick note, confirming he received the death notices, then makes a cup of spice tea. He sits by the window in the common room to drink it. 

It's never easy losing them when they're young. It's not easy losing anyone. When Jim was in the Academy, an admiral told him, "It'll get easier, son." But it's never gotten easier, no matter how many years go by, no matter how many funerals he's presided over. Each one is as painful as the one that came before, as painful as the one that will follow.

But there's something especially tragic about the loss of a young person. A whole life, still waiting to be lived, gone. It's not the loss of an investment, not to Jim—that's Starfleet's way of viewing things—but the loss of what could have been, the loss of potential. Jim saw himself in the face of every young crew member aboard his ship, and he saw his own likeness on their corpses. 

He thinks of the five lives lost, and every one of them is David.

It's worse when there isn't a body to take home, nothing to deliver to a grieving family. Spock would say a body is just a body; that the soul, the _katra_ , the thing that makes a person a _person_ —it isn’t in the body once it's dead. He would probably say Jim is being illogical, but Jim is human. 

Jim's mother was glad there was something of Sam to bury, even though it was painful for her. He and Carol never had a chance to bury David; his body remained on Genesis. A burial would've provided closure, but that's something Spock will never quite understand. He was upset when Amanda died a few years back, but it was part of the natural order. He kept her hairbrush, a practical item he integrated into his own routine. He smooths his hair with it every morning. Jim supposes it's Spock’s way of remaining connected to her. Spock didn't cry when she passed, just sat quietly for a long time, surrounded by her possessions. After a while, he carved a likeness of her that they keep in the common room beside the black and white photograph of David.

He wants to call Spock, to hear his voice for a minute, just for reassurance, but Spock is likely in meetings at the embassy. He'd never chastise Jim for calling, but he would likely wonder why it couldn't wait. It's not an emergency, after all. The students are already dead, and David has been gone for fourteen years. Jim can feel Spock's concern nudging up against the edge of his own mind. He imagines a white sheet draped over his upset about the shuttle, over the image of David. He sends a wave of comfort— _I'm alright_ —to Spock and feels his energy retreat.

Jim takes a sip of tea and leans back in his chair. His left knee is sore from standing at the counter all morning baking. Maybe Bones is right, and he should invest in a brace or a thicker rug, the kind designed to cushion joints. 

"You're not fifty anymore, Jim," Bones scolded during his last visit. He cursed Vulcan's heat index and injected cortisone into Jim's knee, muttering, "All our medical advancements, and we still don't have a cure for arthritis." 

Jim chuckles at the memory and rubs his leg. 

Spock won't be home for a few hours. Sarek is due for dinner, but that's not until evening. Still, Jim figures he can get a head start on preparations. There’s no time like the present. He takes a deep breath, finishes his tea, and mulls over his standby recipes.

+

Spock comes home late afternoon and greets Jim with a kiss on his cheek, then goes to his study to return messages. He’s still without a personal assistant, though he's so efficient at managing his affairs, Jim is surprised he agreed to one in the first place. He supposes it was more to do with Spock's status as an ambassador then his actual need for a secretary. Vulcans might be logical, but they're keenly aware of image. Jim stirs the _lirs_ and adds a sprinkling of salt, glancing toward the closed office door. 

Spock emerges from his study in less than an hour and comes to stand behind Jim. It's something he does often, a habit he developed years ago that Jim has come to find endearing. He begins at a respectable distance, but the longer Spock stands behind him, the closer he inches. Eventually, he rests a hand on Jim's waist and leans in. Jim can feel Spock's breath, warm and familiar against his neck.

"That smells delicious," Spock says against his ear. Jim gives a tense smile that Spock can't see and stirs the _lirs_ again. He taps the spoon twice on the side of the pan and lays it on a plate. He doesn't respond. Spock's hand tightens on his waist. "You are upset," Spock says.

"There was a shuttle crash today," Jim reports matter-of-factly. "Five of my students were on it."

"That is regrettable," Spock says.

Jim hums his agreement but doesn't say any more. He doesn't talk about David. Spock's detached logic is comforting sometimes, but not in situations like this. Jim is tired and simply wants to go to bed. He finds himself wishing Sarek weren't coming for dinner, after all. 

"Should I ask him to cancel?" Spock asks. Jim cringes and closes his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he offers and rubs his neck. "I didn't mean for you to hear that."

"You need never shield from me," Spock says. 

"I know," Jim says.

"My father will not be offended," Spock tells him and turns Jim in place.

"I already have dinner ready. It would be a waste," Jim argues. He sounds peevish; he can hear it in his own voice, so he clears his throat and feigns cheer. "Anyway, I'm fine,” he says brightly, forcing a smile. He fingers the fastening of Spock’s robes, just below his throat. “Go wash up. Sarek will be here soon, and I'm starving."

Spock gives him a scrutinizing look, but after a few seconds, he tilts his head, nods once, and goes upstairs to the bedroom.  Jim hears his footsteps overhead and exhales a puff of laughter, though there isn't any humor in it. 

+

Dinner is a blessed distraction. Sarek either hasn't heard about the shuttle crash or doesn't realize Jim knew any of the people onboard. The topic doesn't come up, and Jim is grateful. Sarek compliments the food, accepts a glass of spiced wine when Jim offers the carafe, and remains after the meal is finished for tea. He stays past sunset. 

"You look tired, Kirk," he observes, reclining on the low couch in the common room. 

"It's the heat," Jim lies, dismissing the topic with a wave of his hand. "It always takes me a while to adjust. "

"Perhaps I should go," Sarek offers, resting his cup on the saucer, and setting it on the table in front of him. He places both hands on his knees "Kirk, Spock, thank you for inviting me. "

"Father," Spock says, "We are, as always, honored by your visit."

He extends the _ta'al_ , which Sarek returns. They both stand up. Spock helps Jim to his feet. Jim presents the _ta'al_ as well, then reaches for Sarek's shoulder and pats it lightly, a habit he's fallen into that Sarak graciously allows. He looks pleased when Jim steps away. Amanda was always tactile with him. Jim supposes that he must miss the contact. Spock has never corrected him, so he continues to do it within the privacy of their homes.

"I take my leave of you," Sarek says. He nods at them both and sees himself out.

When the front door thuds closed, Jim exhales heavily and allows his head to fall against the back of the couch. Spock rests a hand on his leg.

"Go rest," he says. "I'll wash up."

"I'm fine," Jim insists.

"Then go for me," Spock says. "You have not used the soaking tub in a long time. You will feel better, if you do."

"Are you joining me?" Jim asks hopefully, raising an eyebrow.

"Not today," Spock says, amused, "but I will join you after." He sends Jim a brush of affection that Jim returns.

"Well, if you're serious about the dishes, I'll take you up on that offer. There are plenty of leftovers for tomorrow." Jim yawns and stands up, stretching until his back cracks. "Don't be long?" he asks.

Spock shakes his head. "I will not," he promises and goes into the kitchen.

+

Jim undresses while the tub fills. He's getting old, he considers, slapping both hands to his gut as he regards it in the mirror. Maybe Bones is right, and he should try losing a couple pounds. He always returns from Vulcan a little lighter, a consequence of the dietary changes and the planet's heat, not to mention the increase in gravity. But once he's been back on Earth for a few weeks, he's typically put the weight back on, plus a few pounds, thanks to good, old-fashioned steak and potatoes. 

Of course, Spock doesn't mind his weight. It's both a positive and a negative. He should be happy that Spock loves him for his mind, but it's nice to feel attractive sometimes. Spock has told him that he has a beautiful mind, however illogical, so Jim accepts that. There are limitations, after all, being married to a Vulcan. 

He selects a therapeutic bath oil that Spock brought him from Andoria, a token from a recent ambassadorial visit. It has a bright, clean scent. It isn't floral, but it smells like the outdoors: grassy and sharp like lemongrass. He settles low in the tub, so the water comes up to his shoulders. He stretches out his leg, letting the heat ease the ache in his knee. 

He thinks about the students and the shuttle crash and the memorial services he won't attend. In the morning, he'll write notes to each of the five families, words of condolence that may or may not provide any comfort. But he'll write them, all the same, write the spouses and the parents and offer them what little he can. 

The water is almost uncomfortably cool by the time he stands up, towels himself dry, and drains the tub. It's impractical to take a water bath on Vulcan, but the house has a recycling system that wastes very little of the resource. He doesn't use the bath often, but Spock was right: he does feel better, and he's able to bend his knee and extend it again with less pain.

Spock is waiting for him in the bedroom when he enters, sitting on the edge of the bed. He's still dressed, his hands clasped on his lap, and he's watching Jim with a concerned expression. Jim stops a few feet from him. They look at one another. 

"You are shielding," Spock says after a minute. It isn't accusing, just a statement. Jim sighs and sinks down beside him, lowering his chin to his chest.

"I don't expect you to understand," he says after a while.

"They were your students," Spock says. "It is understandable that you regret their deaths. I hope you do not blame yourself."

"I don't," Jim says. He shakes his head to emphasize the point. "It's just, _five_ of them, Spock, all at once. I can't wrap my head around it."

"It is an unfortunate loss," Spock offers. "I grieve with thee."

"I know you do," Jim says. "Thank you."

"Are you upset with me?" Spock asks. He prods the place Jim is keeping from him, shrouded in white.  

"No," Jim assures him. He presses his palm to Spock's cheek. "I just...need some time to process this, that's all. It stirred up some memories."

"Would it help to meditate?" Spock suggests. His eyes dart to the floor, to the meditation mat still laid out from this morning.

"I just want to sit here for a while," Jim says.

"Then I will stay with you," Spock says. He stands and removes his robe, pulls back the sheets, and lies down. He holds out his arms. 

Jim switches off the lights and goes to him, fits himself along Spock's side, nudges a knee between his thighs. He rests his head on Spock's chest. Gradually, he tugs at the white sheet, lowering his shields. He feels Spock's fingers press lightly to the side of his face. 

"May I?" Spock asks, and Jim nods. 

Spock combs through Jim's thoughts, stops at each of the five faces, and takes a moment to honor them. He comes to the sixth, eager and brimming with promise, and honors it too. 

"Jim" Spock whispers in understanding, "I grieve for David every day." 

There are tears in his eyes, but Jim smiles through them and pictures David standing in their dusty red garden. 

"I think he might've liked it here," he says. "He would’ve made sure we have a decent plomeek crop."

"I have no doubt," Spock murmurs fondly and trails his fingertips along Jim's spine, holds tightly as Jim begins to cry.

 _S'ti th'laktra_ , Jim perceives in the thrum of Spock’s heartbeat. _S'ti th'laktra_.


End file.
